


Celebrity Crush

by Ayes



Category: Twilight RPF
Genre: Awkward Crush, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Marijuana, Pizza
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-22 03:00:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12471984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayes/pseuds/Ayes
Summary: Somewhere between the point when he got comfortable enough to scratch his balls in front of her, and the third time they get so high they eat an entire jalapeno and pepperoni pizza, she falls in love with Robert Pattinson.





	Celebrity Crush

Basically Kristen is fucked. She knows it. She's also really mad at herself because even though no one knows she's fucked yet, she still is, and she's the one who fucked herself over. Maybe it was subconscious, but it still happened.  
  
Somewhere between the point when he got comfortable enough to scratch his balls in front of her, and the third time they get so high they eat an entire jalapeno and pepperoni pizza, she falls in love with Robert Pattinson.  
  
He's like the world's weirdest hermit, and she already has a boyfriend, a sexy one. Rob isn't sexy. He's this weird level of pretty that men shouldn't be. He's prettier than her, she thinks, even if his face is kind of flat and his breath always is awful because of the cigarettes and the coffee and that's really no excuse because she smokes and Michael's never complained.  
  
She calls her mom and her mom sits on the phone with her for an hour and half, trying to understand. "I thought you didn't like him," she says.  
  
"I don't! I just, ugh. Well, I do. I don't know." She rubs her nose, pushes at the tip a little with her thumb. "I think I kind of love him."  
  
"Hmm." It's a noncommittal noise, her mom's been making it since the fourth grade when she announced she wanted to be an actress, or an astronaut. "I don't know if he deserves you."  
  
She chokes on a laugh. "Mom, what about my boyfriend? I can't be--this is bad!"  
  
"Honey, you know we like Michael, but a breakup isn't the end of the world. And if you're this confused, I'm not sure you're being fair to him by putting him through a long-distance--"  
  
"I know, I know." Kristen feels bad, and she unfolds her legs. They talk about Cameron's new girlfriend for a while, then she hangs up. She heats up some soup and watches TV, too restless to read.  
  
****  
  
Bella and Edward kiss these days, their relationship is complicated but Chris adds a few tender moments, invests in the pull of Rob while Taylor gets more and more screen time. It's all she can do not to tip her neck back and open her mouth for him when he leans in to peck her. Fuck virgins; she isn't, he isn't, she's tired of pretending to be.  
  
She gets so drunk that night she escapes the party to throw up in the side of someone's house. She doesn't give a fuck who's going to have to hose the concrete clean in the morning, she's just pleased she can lay on the ground and press her cheek to its coolness and maybe, hopefully, not be found by anyone.  
  
While the world spins and her stomach alternates feeling alright and fucking _terrible_ , she entertains the thought of a tall man with soft arms coming to scoop her up, but he doesn't, and by the time she can scrape herself off the ground she can't figure out where her shoes are, and there's a red mark on her cheek.  
  
Nikki drives her home, and doesn't say anything for almost three blocks.  
  
"I'm glad you're alright, tiger," she finally jokes. Her eyeliner is a little smudged, but she looks pretty still, whereas Kristen is sure she must look like a hungover hooker. And her breath can't be great.  
  
"Ugh," she mumbles, blushing a bit and staring out the window.  
  
"Rob was looking for you," Nikki adds. She glances over, measuring Kristen's reaction, and Kristen can't help but resent her a little bit for it.  
  
"Cool," she says finally, but her anger fades when the words sink in. He probably didn't even want anything important, but he wanted to talk to her. She lifts her thumb to her mouth and worries the nail with her teeth. For some reason, his wanting to talk to her or do a shot with her or whatever he wanted is enough to doubt a relationship with foundations two years deep.  
  
It's not exactly the deciding factor, or a huge revelation, but she knows she's going to call Michael in the morning.  
  
****  
  
She and Michael have a rating system for how much things suck, and when she breaks up with him, he breathes out low and disbelieving. "This is a ten, Kris."  
  
"I know." She's already said she's sorry, and doesn't want to say it anymore, even though she is.  
  
"Is there someone else?" He's giving her an option to lie, because she thinks he knows there is. Or maybe she's being paranoid. She's never understood him, after all this time. It's not like reading Rob's eyebrows.  
  
But there are better maps of Mars than of the Earth's own seas. "No," she lies, knowing it will hurt him later, worse than she is hurting him now, if he finds out she's lying. She can't help it. Rob probably doesn't even want her, so Michael never needs to know he's being dumped so she can pine over her best friend.  
  
Is that what the situation is? It seems awfully sad. Kristen hangs up, fighting the urge to say "I love you" after "goodbye." It's time to change some habits.  
  
****  
  
"My hands are dirtier than yours," he says, as they compare sizes.  
  
"Wash them." Kristen curls up on her side, watching Rob squint at his palm now. They're just hanging out, and it's like normal, but her heart has been thudding painfully ever since he knocked on her apartment door. She just hopes he can't hear it.  
  
Rob eats another handful of berries instead; she bought them this morning in an attempt to be healthy, balance out her cigarettes. Or something. She clears her throat. "I broke up with Michael."  
  
He pauses with a raspberry between his teeth; it should be comical, but it isn't. "When?"  
  
"Three days ago." Two days to cry, one day to work up the nerve to tell him.  
  
"Oh." He chews and considers, eventually patting her leg carefully and quickly. "I'm sorry, love."  
  
It's such bullshit how he calls her love and yet doesn't meet her eyes. She wants to know what he's thinking, why he's being so weird, but she also doesn't want to hope. He says he has to leave twenty minutes later, and her throat burns like it's too late.  
  
****  
  
"Stop hassling me," she says, when he pops into her trailer the next day. He puts his face right up to hers, and she puts her palm on his face and pushes. "What?"  
  
"I was a bit ungentlemanly yesterday," he claims, and she doesn't know how he figured out she was upset about it. Maybe she's been a little numb all day, but she's a method actor. She's been uncomfortably numb for months.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"I'm your best friend!" She makes a face, a _no you aren't_ , but he continues anyway. "I should be making you feel better about being dumped."  
  
"He didn't dump me! I dumped him!" It sounds shrill, and she has to take a breath. Once she does, she realizes that she's smiling. "But thanks. What do you want to do?"  
  
"Oh, Kristen." He leans in, puts two fingers on her chin and forces her eyes to lock into his. Her breath goes shallow and her eyes half-shut without her wanting them to. He lowers his voice. "We're going to play Rock Band."  
  
Kristen laughs. What was she expecting?  
  
****  
Nikki and Peter want to play with them, and soon Rob is enthusiastically judging everyone. He puts Peter on drums, Nikki on bass, and when Kris reaches for the guitar, he plucks it out of her grasp.  
  
"No," he says, like he's taking something away from a baby or a naughty dog. "You're too good at Guitar Hero. This is a group effort, not Kristen Clapton time!"  
  
"But what--oh no!" Kristen wails, and smacks his side, but in the end she's left singing terribly, loudly, and having a great fucking time.  
  
Nikki goes to eat with her friend when it gets dark outside, and Peter eventually gets sick of how Rob insists on playing Sweet Child O' Mine between every other song. They start the song over by themselves, and she watches his fingers. Green, blue, yellow, green. For once he gets it exactly perfect, and when his fingers settle down after the intro and he turns to her, she's too nervous to sing anymore.  
  
She shrugs and sets the mic down. "It's not as fun with two people. And my trailer's a mess now." Nikki had scissor-kicked over their popcorn, and she'd knocked over a lamp during some song she didn't know, but had gotten really into.  
  
"Well, that's why God made robots," he said, waving his hand around. "Come on."  
  
She laughs. "I do feel a lot better, Rob, thanks."  
  
"Sure." He puts the guitar down and grins at her. "Normally I'd just take you to drown your sorrows, but I can't have guys chasing after you all night."  
  
She'd normally say 'why not?' but, as wrong as it is, she doesn't really want to discourage him. He's always been flirtatious, but she thought it was friendly, or for publicity, or his personality. It's some combination, anyway, and she doesn't want to know if he's ever really meant it by testing him now.  
  
****  
  
The next day her trailer is spotless again, and when Rob turns up at the craft services table and piles his plate with four kinds of potato chips, she asks him about it. "Oh yeah, that," he sniffs. "I fixed it."  
  
She raises her eyebrows, both of them, because she can't lift just one. "Really." Her magazines were straightened, her underwear drawer unrifled through, her food intact. She knows he wouldn't leave the place smelling of lemon Pledge. "No you didn't."  
  
"I fixed it with money," he explained, and grinned in a manic kind of way. "Here comes the airplane." He pushes a chip at her face, and she turns her face to the side and laughs.  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"I would have done it myself," he says, dropping the chip back onto his plate. It ruins his careful piles, but he doesn't seem to notice. "I was busy."  
  
A date? She wants to ask, but that's stupid. It's probably another interview he's too modest or embarrassed to bring up, like the one he did with Seventeen. _Who's your celebrity crush? ... Kristen Stewart..._  
  
He looks at her like he knows what she's thinking, and walks away before she can blush.  
  
****  
  
In Italy they cling to each other. The group is small but feels like family; she doesn't know the language, and neither does he. Skinny men in suits with skinny ties ride Vespas over cobblestones, and they eat pizza and mozzarella with tomato instead of salad. He orders wine, she orders iced tea, sometimes they swap.  
  
It's cold at night, and one day they pause to look at themselves in a bookstore window. "Twilight in Italy," he chuckles. "Have you read it?"  
  
"No, who's it by?" She's used to this. If the store was open, they'd probably go in. She's cold, but he seems to read the tension in her shoulders, and he steps forward to button her into his coat along with him. She laughs as she's pressed against his chest, tilts her chin up to look up his nose.  
  
"D.H. Lawrence." His fingers are on her hips. To keep some space between them, she supposes, although she wishes that she could rub 'accidentally' against him.  
  
That night, she orders a Kindle online, a gift she knows he'll love.  
  
****  
  
Rob is covered in CGI marker points, and she makes herpes jokes until he actually looks a little pissed. Good thing, too, or he'd notice how she's handling his shirtlessness.  
  
She's been staring at at his back, imagining her fingers on it, nails digging in without looking, without seeing more than his shoulder as he fucks her. He's tall, after all. Her fantasies move through her mind even when his shirt is back on between takes, airbrushed muscles covered. They're funny, but it's just part of his makeup. She knows she likes what's underneath.  
  
He's gotten himself obsessed with Bella, it's part of his job, but if she'd met him as plain-faced Kris, she doesn't know if he could ever love her.  
  
And then Michael comes back.  
  
He flies to Italy on a red-eye flight and arrives, at  11:15, onset without her knowledge. They're filming, swearing their love to each other as Rob babbles about God in his American voice, until he slips on a "u" and she sees something strange twisting his face.  
  
She turns around and freezes. Rob slips away and she feels so cold, looking at Michael's hesitant smile. He's come to win her back, she realizes. He's come to swear _his_ love, and she knows, with certainty, that she doesn't want anything to do with it.  
  
That's why she turns, and runs.  
  
****  
  
Nikki finds her crying behind en equipment van, her palms bruised and weird-looking from pressing into the gravel on the ground. She tries to cover her face and put off this talk. She's being paid too much for crawling around on the floor moping. But Nikki doesn't say that. She just sits down next to Kristen, fussing with her sunglasses so she doesn't have to speak.  
  
"Is everyone really pissed?" Kristen asks timidly, finally.  
  
"No." Nikki isn't saying everything, she knows it. "Um, Michael--"  
  
"I don't care!" Nikki is supposed to be on her side. Not _Michael_ 's. "We broke up! It's over, I--" she chokes again. Rob makes fun of her for how often she cries, sometimes. (" _I hate people crying around me. I'm not friends with them anymore..._ ")She's always defended herself (" _Really? I hate people like THAT, when people think it such a big deal, like, 'oh my god'!_ "), she's always defended human emotions, but now she feels like a fucking idiot. A baby. Running away from someone who loves her, and the boy she does want isn't even here to make her feel better about it. Why would he be?  
  
(" _That's just girls, it's like crying all the time, its like_ shut uuup.")  
  
It's quiet. "Now I have to take him back," she jokes. If you think about it, coming to Italy to surprise her is the most romantic thing that she's ever heard of.  
  
But Nikki strokes her arm. "I'll deal with it."  
  
Kristen waits for a minute; then walks two miles back to her hotel.  
  
***  
  
She eases herself out of the bathtub; grabs the scratchy hotel towel, and hunts around for a nug of weed she may have forgotten. Nothing.  
  
It isn't fair that her life is so melodramatic; that she's in love with her co-star, that her ex-boyfriend crossed an ocean to get her back. All she wants is a mug of tea and uncomplicated love.  
  
There's a knock at the door.  
  
Kristen puts on her bathrobe and stands at the door, tying the knot around her waist tightly before peeking through the hole. Someone is covering it; she knows who that is.  
  
"Hey, Rob," she says, opening the door. Her face is flushed from the bath and tears, but she doesn't much care.  
  
"Hey." He comes in, shows her what's in his fist. At least a dub.  
  
"Thanks." She goes to the window and opens it, kneels to find a lighter in her purse. Her robe slips open and she covers herself quickly; but he isn't looking. He's staring at the window. "Any photographers?"  
  
"No." He turns toward her and finally takes in the towel. "I thought Michael would be here."  
  
"What?" She widens her eyes, comes closer to him. "No! I dumped him, Rob. We're not, I don't..." She shrugs.  
  
"Good." He reaches out and undoes her robe, and she's naked in front of him, confused and hurt and kind of scared now. She blinks at him for half a moment, and then he kisses her.  
  
It isn't gentle, like she expected. There's more power in his thin arms than she could have expected. More terrifying strength in his knuckes, white as they clutched around her hips and push her up against the ugly wallpaper and grinds against her stomach while she bits his neck and tries not to think of what this means.  
  
He's rough; she didn't expect that. He doesn't ask permission or warn her before he slams in. And he comes before she does, her stomach burning and he only touches her clit, her nipples, while she slides down the wall and her thighs begin to feel hot and wet when he slides out. She comes hard, in stutters, but even as she gasps she starts to get mad.  
  
"Let go!" She slaps his chest, and he looks mildly shocked. There are still marker-dots on his neck and he hasn't taken off his shirt yet. "Fuck you, Rob."  
  
He looks confused, hurt. He looks like a man with something to lose.  
  
She locks herself in the bathroom, and ignores his knocks until he goes away.  
  
****  
  
It wasn't that he forced himself on her, but it doesn't sit right. It doesn't _feel_ right. That wasn't how this was supposed to go.  
  
When he calls her, she takes it.  
  
"Hey."  
  
"Hey."  
  
They sit in silence for a moment. She pulls a thread out of her favorite sweater.  
  
"Is he gone?"  
  
"Yeah, um. He left about an hour ago. All tore up."  
  
"Good."  
  
"I'm really, _really_ sorry, Krissy."  
  
She can hear the dampness in his breath, the way it sticks in his throat. She wonders how bad he really feels, and relents.  
  
"You shouldn't be, you know." She sits up and rubs her eyes. "Maybe I fucked up too."  
  
"Nah. I can't let you have all the responsibility." He chuckles, and she beams.  
  
"This is going to sound stupid, Rob. But do you like me?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Well, I mean. It's just that, yesterday, and Michael, and--"  
  
"Kristen," he starts, and she interrupts him.  
  
"I broke up with him for you."  
  
He's quiet for a minute. He sometimes is quiet for hours, and she can feel him rushing his thought process, trying to give her something true. "I love you, Kristen Stewart. I have for yonks."  
  
She giggles, the happiest noise she's made all week. "You're so weird."  
  
"You love it."  
  
"I do."  
  
It's a start.


End file.
